


And then, there's you.

by The_Birds_And_Bees



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, No Romance, Platonic Relationships, being royalty means facing things you don't want to, in which Frisk does not fall prior to the Barrier breaking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 01:24:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10652091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Birds_And_Bees/pseuds/The_Birds_And_Bees
Summary: You’re young. You’re young in so many ways, and younger still in others. There are pieces of you that are necessary to compose what you need to be in this world; the heir to a lost race, a sibling, a friend- and there are the parts of you that don’t belong anywhere, not at all.Until suddenly, they do.





	And then, there's you.

**Author's Note:**

> To the people who know. For you. Always for you.

* * *

 

**Let the first act of every morning be to make the following resolve for the day:**

**\- I shall not fear anyone on Earth.**

 

* * *

 

In the very moment you step through the doorway, you’re almost convinced that a bomb has gone off. The world is a series of blinding flashes, yells that surmount to a thunderous roar, vibrating in your ears until it’s a dull throb; an ache that settles into the back of your neck.

You continue walking. Head high, blind, you walk. Across the carpet until your foot lifts higher, to stairs you’d already memorized earlier this morning, for lack of anything else to do. Three steps upwards, and your eyesight begins to return.  Enough to see the blue of the soft fabric underfoot, the long, wooden table with a singular seat smack bang in the middle, surrounded by microphones. Your seat.

You take it with all the grace your mother had taught you in the thirteen years you’d been in her care, not a hair out of place as you look out; over the crowd of reporters and to the black windows on the far wall; not actually windows. Not from this side, but you know they're watching. They’ll be there when you’re done.

It’s incentive enough to put a smile on your lips, something thin and calm that pulls the entire hall to silence, well before you utter your first words.

“Good evening.” You say. And then the noise is back, far more thunderous than before. At the front of the throng, you can see them pushing each other aside, yelling to be heard first. The exclusive, brought to the world by them.

Raising a hand, you keep every minute of every day you’d spent under your mother’s arm in mind. Every minute. Every day. And you wait for silence.

You are in control. It’s you.

“I understand that you have many questions, but our time is precious this evening. If we could proceed in the most orderly fashion possible… yes?” You direct your gaze to a short man near the front, watching with a detached sense of- nothing, as his hat nearly falls off. Lunging forwards in his excitement. It’s possible you’ve just made his career.

“I’d like to clarify your position within the monster community; is it true that you are the adoptive heir to the Royal Family? Despite having no legal grounds-”

“Regardless of what humans may consider legal grounds, I can confirm my status as an heir to the throne.” A titter, more flashes. The world is torn between the people who wish to record you, the people who wish to immortalize your image, and those who put your every word to paper, ready to twist at the slightest hint of a vague notion.

Your voice remains level.

“This status is one I have held for more than a decade. I belong to my family and my people; you’ll find no dispute from monsters regarding my claim to sovereignty. Next, please.” There’s almost the beginning of a scuffle, but one voice rings out before the others, and it ends before it even has a chance to begin.

“Is it true that you were the first human child to fall into the Underground? How many others succeeded you?”

“Correct; I was the first. To date, there are six others who fell into the Underground. I imagine that we are also the last.”

“And all of you were children at the time?”

“Depending on your opinion of what makes a child. The age of the children who fell ranged from eight years old to seventeen. The eldest of these individuals is now thirty years of age.”

“Are there investigations pending regarding the status of your families-”

“Any investigations are currently between those who fell and the authorities,” You cut in curtly, unwilling to hear the question to its end. “That is the only comment I have for you at this time.”

“And all of you are in good health?”

“Past the point where we subsequently fell hundreds of feet into a cavern, you mean?” A dry retort, and another titter sweeps through your audience; somewhere between genuine amusement and uncertain laughter- too close to the grim reality for comfort. “Each child who fell into the Underground is in good health. Many of us have found a home with the people who rescued us; people who have endured the restrictions of living in a hole far longer than we have.”

_We are ready to fight for that privilege._

Your first choice, the man with the hat, cuts in before anyone else can. Riding off the high of being relevant, for the hot second that it will last.

“Are the identities of these individuals due to be released anytime soon?”

“Their identities are not being released at this time; it is highly likely that they will not be released at any point in the near future, if at all.” Multiple exclamations in the crowd. You continue to keep your voice strong. “For the safety of both these individuals and their families, be they human or monster, it has been agreed by the authorities that any disclosure of personal information would be too great a risk.”

“Don’t you feel that the world has a right to know?”

“On the contrary, I feel that we have a right to our privacy.” Your tone leaves no room for argument; you are in control.

You are in control.

“I have no further information regarding the Fallen Humans. Next question.”

The conversation progresses to other things quickly enough; right now, there’s plenty to go over. How many monsters where there? How many had already left the mountain? Were they safe, would they declare war? You keep your voice even and your answers absolute; time and time again, a question comes that feels distasteful, almost otherworldly. All eyes in the room stay on you. You are in control.

You are in control, and the information is what you feed to the room, like a child tossing scraps of meat to ravenous dogs. Barely out of reach from being torn apart yourself, well aware that a single wrong motion, on your part, would bring you crashing down. You are in control. You need to be, ignoring the growing dryness of your throat, shaking fingers hidden beneath the table. You are in control.

It's a necessity.

“Members of the press, we are almost out of time,” You hear yourself speak, but you don’t know how much time has passed. Enough, you think. Out of the corner of your eye, you see someone waving- beyond the door, at the edge of the dais. It must be almost time. Your throat is raw. “Only a few more questions, if you please- yes?”

“Having initially been brought up on the Surface, your Highness would be aware that scientifically speaking, there has never been any validity in the existence of monsters. How is it that hundreds of years of research never brought the subject of the Barrier to light, and how have we remained in the dark for so long?”

How could the entire world be this stupid, in other words. A valid question on a normal day.

“The simplest answer to this question is simply the passage of time.” You don’t know, even now, what to make of how silent the room is as you speak. Your every word matters- or perhaps, it simply seems like your every word matters. The thought makes you want to laugh; the urge is quashed, ruthlessly. “Realistically, there have always been myths regarding monsters. Legends both good and bad pertaining to their nature and intent. Going back even a hundred years, there are explanations regarding common day occurrences once contributed to mystical beasts; fairy rings. Demons, sitting on a person’s chest in the middle of the night. It’s safe to assume that the world never truly forgot monsters- science simply expanded as a field at a time where little to no evidence of their existence on the Surface was there to be discovered.”

You let your eyes cross the span of the room; never truly alighting on any one face, any one camera. Even so, you were always told as a child that your eyes were something unnatural.

They demand attention.

“Humanity has always been inquisitive. It seeks to define what lies in the furthest reaches of the galaxy, to articulate the smallest particles in existence. The re-establishment of monsters upon the Surface is another step in understanding our world- to uniting myth and science, to uncover lost elements within religious texts. To rediscover aspects of the human body that have long since been forgotten. What I ask of the world at this stage is simple.”

It’s simple. _Don’t shoot first, and ask questions later._ Do not kill.

You don't actually say that.

“Allow yourself the opportunity for discovery, and the benefits that come from embracing the unknown.”

You probably thank them for coming. You’re certain that you do prior to rising from your chair, but noise erupts at the same time as the flashing of the lights, a last attempt to capture every action you make as you take the stairs down, as you keep your head high and your expression passive- until you’ve left the room entirely.

Outside the chamber, the military runs a hive throughout the hallways; both in security and every gear that keeps this building afloat. The man you pass by on a ladder, switching a light bulb, probably knows more ways to kill you than you could ever dream- and yet he’s a fleeting image, just an object in a hall on the way to your destination; a room full of windows that looks out other the seething crowd of reporters, occupied by your family, the Royal Guard, the Royal Scientist. Mettaton. You don’t even bother to think about why he’s here.

You’re certain someone says something to you, or that multiple people do. They move about the room, more blockish shapes than people, until Asriel’s hand is on your shoulder, guiding you away. Into the corner of the room, another room. Away, somewhere. Just somewhere

“Hey, you.” He says gently, and it's his arm wrapped tight about your stomach that keeps you from hitting the ground, when you double over laughing.

The rest of the night is a vaguely remembered blur as you hide yourself in his arms. You cry, you think. Bawl like a child. And that's

  
  


Fine.

 

* * *

 

Out of every occupant in the Underground, you’re one of eight who make up the first group to step past the broken Barrier; one of the first to walk out onto a barren cliff side, and stare out at the sun.

There's a significant irony to the fact that out of those eight, Asriel had been the only monster to accompany you.

After twelve years, you're certain that your first thought upon seeing the Surface again should have been something profound, instead, you'd found yourself watching the youngest member of your small group race forward as you considered the fact that you did not know their name. With tight black ringlets whipping across their cheeks, they'd dragged their sibling after them, and you did not know their name, either. Six Fallen Humans; one by one, you did not know their names.

You still don't. More important to know who they were as people; where they lived. What they did, as they all began to reach an age where their futures called, and interests turned into occupations- but you never learned their names. You never attempted to interact with them before that day, when you all stood in front of the Barrier. Didn't acknowledge their existence as a whole until every heart in the Underground beat as one, joined together by the same desire.

Twenty years old, and your disposition regarding humans hasn't changed, not since your initial- passionate, response, to the news of another child falling into your Home. You'd refused to hear anything about them- refused to accept their presence in the Underground at all. Even now, names were too personal; too familiar.

One day, you hope, you will never see another human again.

You wake to an empty tent at noon, which is disconcerting enough without being alone. Dragging yourself out of bed, you feel the weight of last night pressing down on every aching bone in your body; like you’d been hit by a truck, instead of sitting upright on a chair for an hour, answering questions. Humans want to hear from you- the adopted human child of the Royal Family (the first of the Fallen Humans; the only one they can get their grubby hands on), but you aren’t a monarch yet. Just an heir.

So unlike your parents, likely well into their eighth, tenth, twelfth hour of negotiations that have gone on for days, you don’t have to drag yourself back into some semblance of composure just yet. It was fine to just be you, sparing the newspapers littering the table a glance, giving up on reading anything at all, when your own face takes up the front cover of every single one.

_THE FUTURE OF HUMANS AND MONSTERS,_ is a repeated headline. Someone has been speaking to your father.

Raking your fingers through your hair, you stare about the empty tent in relative disgust; restless gaze unable to settle for more than a few moments. Asriel is already out, somewhere. Helping set up more tents, maybe. Listening to the increasing concerns about an inconsistent water supply. Who knows.

It’s likely there was some unspoken agreement between your family to just let you sleep in.

Last night, evidently, had been embarrassing for all of you.

It takes five minutes to throw on a rumpled sweater and step into the sunlight, an action you almost immediately regret. Gone is the comfort of a near empty castle to wander through; long walkways and dimly lit corridors which eventually ended in a secluded garden, one that very few would enter alone. Your rumpled state is on full display for every monster to see; and you know that they don’t mind, you know.

You mind. You mind, and you subtly attempt to comb your hair out with your fingers, resigned to the grave you've dug for yourself as you navigate the makeshift streets, returning the multitude of nods and smiles aimed your way. You don’t linger, not when most people you'd consider yourself well acquainted with the precise ones who would be busiest; all nowhere to be seen.

It leaves you slightly directionless. You have to consciously remind yourself; you are no longer the same child that could seek out self-destruction when left to your own devices. You need to eat, then you will occupy yourself further. Two steps for the immediate future, and that is manageable, right now.

Even you can manage that.

You are the future of humans and monsters. It’s not a role you can discard due to a preference for finding a new hole to jump in. Not even temporarily.

Skirting between two tents provides a shortcut to the kitchen area; just as makeshift as the rest of the shanty town your people have built themselves practically overnight, and just as heavily utilized. An advantage, to a civilisation used to occupying a very small environment; no space is wasted. Things remain heavily clustered despite how much free space surrounds you; Mount Ebott a distant, imposing figure. Several hundred acres of farmland, borders heavily guarded by security from several countries in the midst of sorting out the introduction of monsters to the world.

It’s safer, for the time being, to host communal cooking areas, than allow uncontrolled fires to blaze wherever people decide they want to cook. This particular kitchen is practically the heart of the entire site; you eat here. Your family eats here. Realistically, it is one of the safest sites in your temporary home.

Realistically, there should be no aberrations in this space. None at all.

Except, somehow, there is.

As they usually do when something should be one way and simply Isn't, most of the sounds in your immediate area- stop. It is not, you assume, because the world has simply decided to stop allowing the creation of noise. It’s still there, and it’s being received.

Because you can hear the world perfectly fine, of course. You can see all manner of things, both in your immediate and peripheral vision. The weather is slightly too warm for a sweater, and even if the walk here was short, the material is likely sticking to your back anyway. All of these things are there, all of them are aspects to the world at large. They don't simply go away upon a whim, at the slightest hint of something wrong.

A large majority of what is you has simply decided to step away from them, is all.

Stock still, you regard the anomaly with the air of someone detached, aware that you are hardly, if ever, detached, or if you are detached, it’s not the world you’re detaching from. Another part of you acknowledges that if Asriel were here, he’d likely be in the middle of convincing you that taking charge of this situation right now, particularly after last night, is not a good idea.

The rest of you is already walking.

“Greetings.” A mishmash of tables have been set up in a long line to allow a variety of preparations to take place; stepping up to them, you’re forced to lean over a tray of potatoes, freshly peeled and uncooked. And the anomaly looks up at the sound of your voice- at your proximity, rather, with a peeler in one hand, and a dirt covered vegetable in the other.

You note, distantly, that they look half asleep. A cunning guise that’s ruined by the speed of their response, the crinkle at the corners of their eyes as they smile kindly down at you.

“Hey.” A singular word in return; imbued with a muted sense of cheerfulness and dripping with the saccharine vestiges of friendly candour. You’re not fooled in the slightest.

“Roped into assisting the kitchen, mm?” You gesture, somewhat needlessly. The anomaly smiles some more. Shrugs. A natural actor. Their hair looks like it’s never even heard of a comb, and your fingers itch. To slap the smile off their face, or find a brush; either sounds cathartic, at the moment.

“Not really.” They wave their weapon at you, and you're certain that a peeler has never seemed so threatening. A deadly peeler, in the hands of a possible maniac. “Doesn't feel right, not helping out. Kept asking around- until someone said yes.”

“Good of you.” You say approvingly, because the anomaly is not the only one who can act. “What do you make of it, so far? Everyone’s hard work.”

They hum, slowly resuming their work as they consider your question. As the skin peels away, it falls, hitting something with a soft thunk. A bucket, only partially filled, but likely ready to be used as an additional ingredient to another meal, a side dish- compost, at worst. Not a resource goes wasted; another aspect to monster culture that you doubt would ever go away.

It had been too long since monsters had experienced what it felt like, to not have their resources restricted.

“It’s a start...? I think-” They pause, shake their head. “I don’t know. There’s still a long way to go.”

“Mm. True, that.” Your smile widens; you’re not entirely certain it’s a smile anymore, and what weight you have doesn’t manage to nudge the table at all, regardless of how hard you lean your hip into it. Friendly, is what you’re being. Very friendly. They place a freshly peeled potato down in the tray, and you hand them another, waving off their thanks. “And the monsters? How are you finding them?”

You’re not expecting it to be a magical question, and yet, you feel as if you’ve said something magical, in that moment. Portrayed in the way their movements slow, how their expression eases into something almost agonizingly soft.

“I think they’re wonderful.” The anomaly says, voice quiet; and it shakes something in you, hearing it. That raw, genuine air to their words- something that makes it sound, if only for a second, as if they truly believe what they’re saying.

In that moment, you feel as if you believe them, yourself.

Only in that moment, of course. Because really, they’ve already outed themself as a filthy, dirty liar, and your sense of belief is only required to go so far.

Is it possible to feel both triumphant and ill, at the same time?

“I agree.” You believe in that statement wholly, regardless of how little this anomaly does. Your eyes stay on their face, watching for the slightest change in their portrayal of innocence. One more slip up, to add to your internal listing. “It does leave them susceptible in some ways, however. For example, most monsters may not question a strange, new human in their midst, particularly one as _kind_ as yourself.”

Leaning over, you make a grab for the peeler; an easy enough action, when they’re simply watching you in a somewhat nonplussed manner. Watching, as you pluck away their weapon and pocket it, still smiling in your own, jovial way. Because you’re being friendly. Very friendly.

“I realize this may be the first time someone’s thought to ask, but pray do tell; what _are_ you doing here? Obtaining information to sell? Poisoning the food supply?” Years ago, you’d stood in front of a mirror for several hours, until you’d taught yourself how to raise a single brow. You’d found the motion elegant, intimidating. It’s something you enjoy putting into action, to this very day. You’re doing it right now. “Did you really think you wouldn’t be caught out?”

“...Sorry?”

“Please don’t play coy with me; it’s not attractive.” Almost idly, you scratch a smile into one of the potatoes; two eyes, wide, fixed mouth. It’s like looking into a mirror. “This is a restricted area, you know. I could have you shot for this.”

“Okay.” The word almost sounds like a question, and you stare up at them, confident that even leaning across the table, you’re still a very intimidating figure. They look down at you...and slowly raise a brow of their own, which isn’t nearly as impressive as when you do it.

“Are you high?” They ask bluntly.

Your smile drops, just the slightest.

“Do I look like the kind of person to partake in such things?”

“You look like the kind of person who speaks better when they’re sober.” The anomaly says frankly; they have some nerve, really. Shaking their head, the anomaly moves away from you; looking for another peeler. You follow intently.

“Unfortunately for everyone involved, there’s yet to be a day in my life I wasn’t sober.” The anomaly scoffs softly.

“Maybe you should look into that.”

“Maybe you should answer my question.” It’s like you just stuffed a slice of lemon in their mouth.

“I was invited. To live here.”

“Were you now.” Sarcasm, in your voice?

There’s probably a meme, that goes here. As it stands, you’ve likely slept more in the past twelve hours than you have in weeks, and the end to the joke remains lost to the buzz of your own thoughts, rocketing past each other.

It’s been years since you’d kept a knife on your person; you’re starting to regret losing the habit. Leaning over a tray of potatoes is only getting you so far. “And who invited you?”

“Me, probably.” A lazy voice rumbles behind you, and your body- straightens. In a single, fluid motion that almost has you falling backwards, but- fluid. Grace personified.  Sans grins up at you, seemingly unconcerned by your response to his sudden appearance. “Sup, Maj’?”

“Sans.” Your tone is frosty. That’s his fault. When you were younger, you used to be able to intimidate him a little, when you were angry. You don’t remember when a lack of warmth in your tone had stopped making him sweat bullets, but you miss those times. You miss your knives.

There’s a lot of things to miss, today.

He winks at you, and it’s in that moment that you feel as if you’ve lost complete and utter control of this situation, if you’d ever had any in the first place. He doesn’t even keep his attention on you for long, bony fingers shoving into the pockets of his scruffy hoodie as he gives the anomaly the majority of his attention.

“Paps was looking for you. Said you forgot your breakfast spaghetti.” The anomaly cringes as Sans’ smile widens, shaking their head.

“Not much of a breakfast person.” They manage, and it’s such a horrendous lie, it’s laughable.

Legends say Papyrus’ cooking has that effect on people.

“Yeah? I’ll let him know. Bell’s always eating like a horse, so he kind of figured uh, you’d do the same.” They huff, like he’s said something funny, and you stop feeling like you’ve calmly stepped outside of the rest of the world. “Anyways; his Highness showed up with some more gear; it’s pretty _in tents_. Think one of em’s s’posed to be yours.”

You feel, instead, like you’ve just forcibly become the third wheel.

“Really?” The anomaly looks positively delighted- and then they look at you. Whatever delight existed prior is lost. “Is that okay?”

You tend to have that effect on people.

“Dunno. Why don’t you go ask him?” They keep looking at you, and you can imagine that the question has just repeated itself; _is **that** okay? _ And you make a face- at them, at him, out of patience for the world well before you’d even rolled out of bed this morning.

“I’m sure the vegetables can manage just fine without you.” You tell them, and when they continue to simply stand there, you exhale, sharply gesturing them away. “That’s your cue to leave.”

“You should really consider that sober issue,” The anomaly tells you solemnly, and Sans makes a choked off noise suspiciously akin to a laugh. “Um- later, Sans. Maj. Nice to meet you?”

…You don’t bother to correct them before they leave, eyes resting accusingly on a skull that has never looked innocent, not once in your life. He whistles, and you’re not eleven, anymore. It’s no longer a deep-seeded mystery in need of solving, how a skeleton manages to whistle with no lips or tongue.

“Well that was somethin’.” Casual as he pleases, even in the face of your ire. He knows he deserves it.

“You invited them here.”

“Yep.”

“ _Why_ invite an unknown human _here?_ ”

“Dunno. Figured they could use some friends. A laugh or two.” He leans over, holding up a carrot he must have plucked from further down the line, and you take a step back, tone warning.

“Don’t-”

“ _Carrot_ think of a better reason, sorry.”

“You’re either assisting me in chopping these vegetables, or you’re leaving.”

“Yep, I’m gone.” He’s not actually gone. Just watching as you duck beneath the table, taking up the space the anomaly had vacated. Pulling the confiscated peeler from your pocket, you vaguely recall that getting breakfast was your original intention, in this adventure.

Unsurprisingly, the urge to gorge yourself is gone.

Several minutes pass in which you divest all your energy into ignoring him. Your potatoes, when peeled, don’t look nearly as good as the ones already on the tray. One more insult from the world at large.

“S’Frisk, by the way.”

“Excuse me?”

“Their name.” You can feel his eye sockets beading into your forehead, and you refuse to give him the satisfaction of looking up. There is no such thing as having woken up already in a mood; clearly, he’s set this morning up to make you as irritable as possible. “Figured you’d wanna know.”

“I’d much prefer to know why they’re here, Sans. In a non-specified location, less than a hundred humans worldwide are aware of.” You cut a potato in half. With the peeler. It’s rather impressive. “Wandering around people who don’t need more than a stick to the shins to die. _They needed a laugh_ doesn’t cut it. It’s inexcusable.”

“Pretty sure the only thing you’re finding inexcusable right now is the fact that your brother knew they were here, and didn’t bother telling you about it.” You refuse to answer him, with his smug tone, and his logic. He doesn’t sigh at you; but then, he never does.

Silence reigns supreme for a blissful moment- and then he’s talking again. “Saw the newspapers. Looks like you pulled quite the crowd.”

“Yes.”

“Nothin’ wrong with taking a little time for yourself, after that.” A laugh bubbles up through your throat, and as always, it’s unpleasant to hear and experience. Still, you don’t look at him. Don’t need to see the slight cues on his face that project what emotions he’s feeling.

You already know he hates seeing you like this. Your fault, that you’re not acting rational. That he feels like he must check up on you, after you’d failed so spectacularly. You hate it too. Your reasons for hating it, however, are very different.

At what point have you ever needed a keeper.

“The very last thing I need right now is time to myself.” You wouldn’t want for anything at all; if only you could stop cutting potatoes in half with a peeler. There’s not enough blade on this to cut things in half. This is not a weapon that should be capable of such destruction.

In hindsight, it probably wasn’t all that threatening when Frisk was holding it. Sans doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m fine.”

“Nah, you’re not.” There’s no accusation in the words, just a simple observation. He doesn’t let you lie to him, and he doesn’t let you lie to yourself.

You know he does it, because if the situation were reversed, you’d do the same for him.

It’s just how you work.

“I will be.” You amend, and in your periphery, you see him nod.

“Cool.” He stays with you, for a few more minutes. Watches you peeling potatoes until your motions have become gentle enough that you aren’t cutting them to pieces out of brute force, letting the silence sit, instead of trying to turn it all into a pun. On the rare occasion, he understands your need for silence. Why joke when your entire life is currently a joke? “You should come hang out, later. You and As’. Frisk’ll prolly be around too.”

You smile mirthlessly. “Inviting me to interrogate them more?”

“Inviting you to get to know them, kid. There’s a difference.” Setting the peeler down, you wipe your hands down the front of your sweater. A four-armed monster bustles over, delaying your response as they cheerfully apologize. You both watch as the tray of potatoes is swept away to the ovens.

“...I don’t want to get to know them, Sans. I want to know that right now, my brother, and your brother, are safe with them.” Now, you look at him. And he looks as tired as you feel, deep set grooves pulling shadows in beneath his eye sockets; betraying scores of fruitless attempts to sleep. Still meets your eyes evenly. Doesn’t speak when he knows you’re not finished. “I have the feeling that’s not something you can guarantee for me.”

He shrugs, phalanges reaching up to scrape against his cervical vertebrae.

“Like I said, I’m inviting you to get to know them. I know that’s not usually your shtick, but uh-” He looks to the side in an almost sly fashion, and you refrain from groaning pre-emptively. “S’a big place, the Surface. Lots of different places to look at things. Might be cool to, y’know. Try that.”

“Don’t…”

“Could make all the difference, tomato.”

“ _Leave._ ”

Sometimes, you think that if you hadn’t grown up around him, you’d hate Sans with every fiber of your being.

Then again, maybe not.

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

After an entire day of cutting vegetables, your wrists are cramping obnoxiously. The spiteful energy cultivated from the urge to gnaw your arms off at the elbow, however, is expended into something far more useful- walking, really, really fast. It takes a great amount of dedication, to walk faster than someone who's legs end just below your chest area. The more rational side of you considers the possibility that he’s simply letting you walk ahead of him.

The less rational part, which has been driving your body for most of the day, wants that part to fuck off.

“And I just apologized for that- less than a minute ago.” Asriel points out. He doesn’t sound nearly petulant enough for your tastes; it’s aggravating, being treated as if you aren’t being rational. Between him and Sans, the entire world has been treating you like that today. You’re not having it.

“Ah yes; _please excuse me, my dearest sibling and closest friend- I do believe I forgot to mention the additional human within our encampment, jeopardizing all our well-thought security protocols and leaving us vulnerable to a potential leak._ ” You drop the falsetto, waving your hands in the grandest gesture you can manage, right now. “Apology accepted, your Highness. I understand that sometimes, the little things just slip our minds.”

“It’s kind of hard for Frisk to be a security threat in the middle of nowhere,” Asriel points out reasonably. He catches up to you, after a moment, and you put every inch of your spiteful being into walking just that tiny bit faster. “Chara, they don’t even have a phone. We’re in the middle of nowhere; if there was any chance of them being a threat, mom and dad wouldn’t have allowed them to stay.”

You spare him only the most withering of looks.

“So everyone knew about this before me.”

“Well- kind of?” He has the decency to rub the back of his neck, smiling from under the beginnings of a golden beard that makes him look like a younger version of your father, minus four hundred kilos. “Obviously Undyne knows, and Alphys knows through her- and they’re kind of living with Sans and Papyrus, so obviously-”

“I’m disowning all of you,” You interrupt bluntly. “I’m done. Cutting all ties. You’re dead to me. Goodbye forever.”

“Please don’t joke about that,” His tone is mild, but you know you’ve struck a chord. You don’t answer, but that’s answer enough, and a large, white paw engulfs your hand, lifting it up so he doesn’t have to crouch to hold it. “I am sorry. I should have told you, and it’s not okay that I forgot. But Frisk isn’t a danger.”

“You can’t know that.” You tell him, but he’s already shaking his head at you. And around you both, the world keeps moving; a mixture of shapes highlighted by glowing campfires and joyful songs that have survived the last eight days, and will last many more. It’s impossible for monsters to hate this; to hate enduring the outdoors. The elements when they were experiencing them for the very first time.

They have no idea what the world is really like.

“Sans and Papyrus met them when they were coming down the mountain; you know those two were some of the first people on the Surface. Frisk didn’t come along because they saw us on the television and decided to drop by; they’ve been here from the start.” You almost protest, since it hardly answers the question of _where_ they came from in the first place, but Asriel moves the conversation along without you. “Besides, I’ve spoken with them a few times. They’re okay, really!”

“Says you,” A grumbled response. You’re being bullied into submission, and you don’t like it. “You’re the one who thought a feral raccoon was hissing at you to say hello.”

“How was I supposed to know it wasn’t friendly? Look, just- for tonight, Chara, just relax.” His thumb smooths over the entire expanse of your hand with barely a motion needed, red eyes soft and all too vexing. “We’ve barely had a chance to spend time with anyone since we got up here; why waste it over someone who’s already got fifty eyes watching them?”

“You’re far too old to use your eyes to get your way, Dreemurr.” You toss your head back, wholly unimpressed. “However, if you deem this- _hang out_ to be such an important occasion, I shall behave.”

“And that’s why you’re my favorite sibling.”

“I’m your only sibling.”

“Mom adopted twenty more humans while you were sleeping last night. You’re going to have to share your bedroll, by the way.” He grins, fangs protruding out over his bottom lip as you let out a long-suffering sigh.

“I’d like to thank my family for this opportunity, and humbly request to return to the Underground on a permanent basis. My true calling awaits- being a hermit.”

“Request denied, time to socialize.”

“You’re a slave driver.” You tell him, rounding corner of one tent to the sight of Papyrus bustling over an open fire. “And that is illegal.”

“It’s fine. I’m here to monitor it.” Asriel tells you confidently. When he lets go of your hand to get swept up by the youngest skeleton’s enthusiastic greeting, you refrain from advising him that this is, most likely, a prime example of using his status for personal gain.

You’ll tell him later. For now, you allow your gaze to span across the small clearing, taking in a few monsters from Snowdin you know by face, if not name, and the various tents dotting the edges in a circle- including one that seems to have collapsed into itself, a poor excuse of a shelter if you’ve ever seen one. Sans is sitting in front of it, much to your absolute lack of surprise.

The anomaly is also next to it, attempting to prop it back into some fashion of functionality. Frisk. Their name is Frisk.

You know why he told you that. You don’t appreciate it.

“That tent is taking after you in the worst of ways.” You say, instead of an actual greeting. Sans grins up at you, shrugging his shoulders as Frisk endeavours to fix things. They’re not getting very far.

“Tried making a trash tornado in it; didn’t go down so well.”

“No kidding.”

“Yeah. Weird, huh?” Stepping over his legs (that of course, he doesn’t bother attempting to move out of the way) you stare Frisk down until they register your presence, motioning them to the side with a sharp, impatient gesture. They can’t get out of your way fast enough. “Guess there’s nothing for it. Just gonna be half the tent the other guys are.”

“Or perhaps, you simply need to not install a trash tornado into a structure held up by flimsy plastic. I need masking tape.” The latter is directed to the human, who points to the ground at your left. Ah.

“Yeah? Doesn’t sound like me”

“It’s going to sound like you after I’m finished, sir. I’d hate to think of what could happen, should you intentionally destroy my hard work.” The toothy grin you throw his way is downright nasty. “Worry not; I’ll check in.”

“Yeesh. You hearin’ this?” Sans tilts his head to the side, gesturing your way like Frisk isn’t right there, watching things unfold with an odd, almost smile on their face. “Can’t even relax in my own home.”

“At least they care?” Frisk offers, and you share a long look with the skeleton.

“Yeah, can’t see it.” Sans rumbles.

“Sounds fake.” You agree.

“Guess that’s our next headline; Fallen Human, might _Chara ‘_ bout people.” Focusing back on the task at hand, you duck your head, biting back a laugh. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the baffled look Frisk is directing towards you both.

You have to cough, a few times.

“Okay, kids. I’m gonna see if Alphys is coming to this thing. Play nice.” A lazy salute, and Sans simply leans back, dropping into the tent flap despite a noise of protest. His knees bend, and when his slippers disappear beneath the fabric, you know he’s gone.

From the lack of surprise in your not...particularly welcome companion, they know he is, as well.

“...Anything I can do to help?”

“You could stop acting like I’m about to bite you.” Is your very helpful suggestion. They raise a brow, and you were right; it’s not nearly as impressive as when you do it.

“You sure?”

“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t make a habit of putting strange things in my mouth.” You look up at them then, tone pointed. “Heaven knows where you’ve been.”

“Ebott, mostly? I grew up there.”

“How delightful for you.”

“You weren’t from Ebott?”

The major issue with the tent is the supports; thin metal rods covered by plastic; a few of them have seemingly snapped down the middle- maybe they were rusted. Maybe Sans is just too good at self-sabotage. The simple cure, for the time-being, is masking tape.

You let the roll drop back to the ground, staring Frisk down.

“I’m from the Underground.” To their credit, they look appropriately chastised.

“Right. Sorry.”

“As you should be.” They don’t have much to say to you, after that. They don’t leave, either, apparently content to divide their attention between watching you work, and Asriel attempting to keep Papyrus from making the fire explode. You keep half an ear on that conversation, as well; hard to hold Asriel playing favorites over his head if said favorite gets killed. Sans likely wouldn’t be happy, either.

Not that he’d be happy right now, but that’s the problem with trying to set people up. Sometimes, they don’t want to talk to each other.

If his tent falls after this, you’re burying him in it.

Eventually, you lean back, assessing you work with a critical eye. Good enough. The sun is barely peeking over the horizon, a soft, pink glow across rolling hills, and one indomitable mountain rising higher than any other piece of ground for miles. At least it’s close.

If the need to go home becomes overwhelming, it’s right there. You’d walked greater distances, as a child.

“The legends are still the same, aren’t they?” Not really a question, though Frisk tilts their head at you like it is. “Travellers to Mount Ebott are said to disappear.”

You eye them off, smile present, presumably. It usually is, when the situation doesn’t call for it. “If you grew up in Ebott, why climb it?”

Frisk’s gaze goes to the horizon, and silence prevails. Funny; not so comfortable when the question is turned back around on them, are they?

“...It’s not the only legend.” They say vaguely, and you take your turn in raising a far superior brow their way.

“So?”

“So, it’s not the only legend.” The human stretches out, before taking a seat on the ground beside you. Your questions weren’t an invitation, but far be it for you to interrupt. “There’s another one that’s...probably a little kinder, really.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense, or anything.” A dry comment, when it becomes clear they’re not going to say more on their own. “The amount of context is astounding. I’m riveted.”

“You’re rude. Weren’t you going to have me shot?”

“The firing squad is on standby, lest you continue to sway me with your advanced storytelling abilities.”

“Gee, how kind of you.” The fire is now a thing of beauty; large and under control. Asriel’s keeping an eye on it, politely keeping to one side as Papyrus stacks plastic containers about the edges. Perhaps neither of them are aware that non-magical fire would cause them to melt. You’re not about to warn them. “I guess- there was this one rumour that started a while back. About the first kid.”

You’re almost amazed, by how level your voice sounds. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. They disappeared when I was six; I don’t...really remember what happened.” Their brow furrows, seemingly attempting to collect the memories from wherever they’ve hidden themselves. “It was a big deal for a while. Something big happened with their family after.”

“That seems less legend, more history.”

“That part is. Maybe five years later, someone started saying that they saw them on the mountain. So people started saying they weren’t really human at all- a visiting spirit, or something like that.” You laugh; Frisk shrugs at you, certainly unaware of what they’re talking about. Who they’re talking about. “When I was in high school, people started saying that people who found them on the mountain would be granted a wish. Sort of like...one of those Greek trials, in a way. Great fortune awaited those who climbed; or dire consequences. Sounds pretty silly, now.”

“And so, you climbed the mountain because you thought the first Fallen Human would grant you a wish.” Like the local tooth fairy. Thirteen years, and you’d gone from- what you had been, to fantastical wish granter. Imagine that.

Imagine, if one of the other Fallen Humans had climbed the mountain expressly because of you.

How’s that for karma.

“I never said that. Just that I liked that legend better.” Frisk corrects, and you shake your head at them, torn between the great void pretending to be a smile on your face, and the ugly twisting of your stomach. All these years, and that’s what people had been telling themselves. You didn’t climb the mountain; you just returned to it.

“Don’t. The first child who climbed the mountain? They were eight. There was nothing fanciful about why they went up there; they climbed that mountain to die.” Frisk is looking at you. You don’t look back, stretching out your arms before laying out across the grass, the very image of relaxed. “There are undoubtedly people in that town who know full well why they did so- and they turned it into a fairy-tale? That’s disgusting. You may want to keep that legend to yourself, from now on.”

“...I wasn’t trying to insult you.”

“I know. One doesn’t have to attempt something in order to do it.”

“...Alright.” They shift, but a moment later. You hear their hand press into the grass as they lean into your frame of sight, hovering at the edge. Looking down at you from a somewhat respectful distance. “Is that why you climbed the mountain?”

“I don’t know,” You stare up at them, and it’s intended to be a challenge. Pushing the question back on them, forcing them to feel the same, sharp corner they’re attempting to box you into. C’mon Chara, why’d you ever climb a mountain like that. “Is that why you did?”

Frisk has a very different smile, to you. It doesn’t spill across their face; in fact, this is the first time you’ve seen it, since this morning. But just like then, there’s something that catches you about it. The raw honesty, it’s sad.

Their smile is sad.

 

“Yeah.”

 


End file.
